


I feel love, I feel alone

by desticockles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, IDK I suck at tagging, M/M, Mild Language, a little angsty, i dunno how to tag it, kind of, sort of fluffy, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desticockles/pseuds/desticockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin is dead, Charlie’s off in Oz having the time of her life, Cas has grace, and Sam is just… gone. And Dean doesn’t expect anyone to come back this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I feel love, I feel alone

**Author's Note:**

> And I am alone, so don’t speak  
> I find war, and I find peace  
> I find no heat, no love in me
> 
> And I am low and unwell  
> This is love, this is hell  
> This sweet plague that follows me
> 
> And I am more than these bones  
> I feel love, I feel alone  
> I just wish you would come home
> 
> My body's weak  
> I feel my heart giving up on me  
> I'm worried it might just be  
> My body's weak  
> Feel my lungs giving up on me  
> I'm worried it might just be  
> Something my soul needs  
> Something my soul needs
> 
> Something my soul needs  
> Is you, lying next to me  
> And it's you, lying next to me
> 
> \- "Flesh and Bone" by Keaton Henson

Other than family, Dean’s never cared about anyone as much as he cares about Castiel. Some times he feels like there is a stark contrast in the nature of this affection, but he pushes it aside and thinks, it’s just cause’ it’s Cas, he’s not normal, he’s not human. He treats the way he feels about Cas as if it’s the same as the way he cares about Sam, pretends he doesn’t get some sick feeling in his gut when ever Cas is hurt or disappears, the ache in his stupid heart when ever Cas is gone, the way he sometimes is completely overwhelmed with happiness just at the thought of Cas, just at seeing him or hearing his voice. He ignores it, because Cas is family and that’s normal. But he knows it’s not really.

Sam, Dean and Cas. That was it. That was their little family. And then Kevin and Charlie became part of it. And suddenly he was forced to question all those feelings he had pushed away. He truly did care about Kevin and Charlie, in a way similar to the way he cared about Sam, about Adam, about his parents. With that revelation came another. Suddenly those differences between his relationships were surfacing and it scared him to think about it. To think that, all this time, he maybe hadn’t really believed the things he told himself he felt about Cas. Cas had always been different, even if Dean told himself that he wasn’t. Always.

And everybody leaves Dean. _Always_. Everyone he ever loves leaves. He knows this, and this is why he keeps his distance. This is why every time he has sex, it’s over and done the next morning. It’s why he only has a hand full of people he can call friends, but calls them family, because he can’t afford to just have friends. If he doesn’t keep it that way everything goes wrong. He hates to remember all the times that the shit hit the fan in his relationships. He has convinced himself that he will never be happy; will always be alone, and always unloved. Kevin is dead, Charlie’s off in Oz having the time of her life, Cas has grace, and Sam is just… _gone_. And Dean doesn’t expect anyone to come back this time. Somehow this feels like the end. Like there is no way around it. He feels completely and utterly hopeless here, alone.

So Dean curls up on the floor with a bottle of cheap whiskey, trying not to look at the lifeless corpse on the other side of the room covered by a sheet, and just let’s go. Dean cries. He would normally hate himself for this, but when everything has fallen apart there’s no more time to hold back or scold himself. He takes a long pull at the bottle, barely noticing the burn of the cheap alcohol, and lets his head fall back against the wall behind him, stares up at the ceiling of the bunker, at the ceiling lights blurred by his tears. Time seems to be dragging on, minutes feeling like hours, hours like months. And Dean doesn’t know when, but he finishes the whiskey and lays on his side on the floor, curled up with his knees to his chest. Part of him wants to get up and find something else to drink, maybe drink himself to death, thinking that might hurt less.

Instead, head swimming, half asleep with tears in his eyes, he does something without thinking. It’s stupid. Really, it is. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and closes his eyes as he whispers to himself, “I need you here, Cas. I just wish you would _come home_.”

He wants to hit himself for saying it, because it’s stupid. But he is too tired to care anymore, just presses a fist to his mouth and breathes deeply, trying not to outright sob. Within seconds of uttering those stupid words, Dean’s phone is vibrating against the wood floor in front of him, turning as it buzzes loudly. At first he thinks it’s pointless, and he doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now anyway. But some part of him that still has hope surfaces, forces his hand out to grab the phone and hit the answer button, but he stares at the unknown number for some time, phone almost a foot from his face, and wonders who he will hear on the other end. He isn’t sure he wants to know, but he slowly brings the phone closer, presses it to the shell of his ear, and grumbles some unintelligible greeting.

“ _Dean?_ ” Castiel’s voice comes through, quiet, soft.

“Cas?” Dean is surprised, his eyes widening slightly, and for some reason he feels like he wants to cry harder now.

“ _Are you alright? I… I didn’t expect it, but I_ heard _you._ ”

“Shit…” Dean sits up, now, running a hand over his mouth, eyes watering and red. “No, I’m not. I… Sam’s gone. And Kevin… He’s… Cas, I don’t know what to do.”

“ _I’m sorry, Dean._ ” There is a brief silence, a soft rustling sound on the other end, and Dean rests an elbow against his knee, pressing his hand against his forehead. “ _Do you… want me to go to you?_ ” Cas sounds hesitant, confused, worried. Dammit, Dean doesn't want pity. Or does he? He isn’t sure anymore. The only thing he is sure of is...

“Yes. Please.” and he wants to really say it, _I need you_ , but he can’t. He can say it in a prayer, a desperate whisper, alone and not truly heard… But he finds that when he knows for certain Cas will hear it, his tongue is tied. He swallows past the lump in his throat and scrubs roughly at his forehead with the pads of his fingers.

“ _I will be there as soon as possible._ ” Dean nods, forgetting that Cas can’t see him, and drops his hand from his face, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

“Thanks.” Dean croaks, cringing inwardly at the broken sound.

“ _I’ll see you very soon._ ” Dean nods again, and hangs up, pressing the phone up to his lips and tries to keep his breathing steady.

Dean suddenly remembers why Cas is different. Cas doesn’t _have_ to stay. He doesn’t have any obligation to ever come back to Dean when he’s fucked up. Cas should have left years ago, just like everyone else does. Cas should have gotten tired of dealing with Dean, of fighting with him, of being rejected. But Cas never stopped caring. He never truly left. He always comes back for some reason, and that terrifies Dean. He isn’t willing to admit that it gives him some sick kind of butterflies. He sits there, curled up and crying, wondering how he ended up with such a good friend in such a shitty world. Wondering why Cas _always_ comes back. Wondering why he always _wants_ him back.

Dean’s eyes grow heavier with each passing moment, each painfully long minute, and he doesn’t realize he is half asleep until he jolts upright to the sound of someone banging on the door to the bunker. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling slightly as he heaves himself up the steps and pulls the door open. Cas is standing there, covered in a layer of dirt… no, ash? His suit from before is stained by blood and dirt and ash, the tie he wore is crumpled up in his hand, and his hair is a mess. But his blue eyes are soft and worried, somehow still piercing through Dean in that way they always do. And then Dean is taken completely by surprise when, for the first time since he’s known Cas, he is pulled into an embrace.

Cas has never even returned a hug when Dean started it, and suddenly he was wrapping his arms around Dean and clinging to him, rubbing small circles into his back to calm him. And Dean accepts it, returns it, and doesn’t realize that he has buried his face in Cas’ neck and cried against his warm skin until Cas is pulling back and staring at Dean’s tear streaked face with some kind of apprehensive sympathy. Dean doesn’t question Cas when he swipes the tears away with the pads of his thumbs, holding Dean’s face in his hands; though he does wonder why Cas is suddenly so touchy-feely.

When Cas furrows his brow slightly and frowns, and says to Dean, “you’ve been drinking,” Dean doesn’t deny it, just nods slightly, and watches Cas examine his face with sad eyes. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine. I just… I need to find Sam and fix this and…”

“Dean.” Cas stops him, his voice firm and unwavering, “you need to sleep.”

“But I have to…”

“We can work on fixing this. Together.” Dean can tell that Cas is serious about this, so he just nods and lets Cas close the door to the bunker, and briefly wonders if Cas can tell just how broken Dean is this time as he lays a light, comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder while they walk. As much as Dean thinks sleeping isn’t the right thing right now, he wants to sleep more than anything, part of him hoping that he might wake up and find it was a dream. He wants this to be a dream so badly.

Dean doesn’t really remember anything between their descent down the stairs at the front door, and Cas leaning over Dean’s bed, pulling his blanket up over his shoulders. He lays there, dazed, and watches Cas turn the lights off and turn to leave the room. He suddenly feels sick, a horrible twisting and turning in his gut. He doesn’t want to be left alone. Some unreasonable part of him thinks that if Cas leaves that room he might never come back, knowing that his coming back _at all_ was too good to be true. It always is.

“Wait.” And Cas turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t leave me, please.”

“I will be right back, Dean. I promise.” He leaves without giving Dean a chance to protest, so Dean lets his head fall heavy against the pillows and sinks into his memory foam mattress. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and it seems like even less time before he is awake again. He startles awake when he feels the mattress shift, and squints into the darkness, struggling to see the figure sitting at his feet. After a moment he remembers that it’s Cas, sighs in relief, and feels his heart flutter in his chest. He suddenly wonders if Cas needs to sleep anymore, which makes him feel sick to his stomach. In Dean’s mind, if Cas doesn’t need to sleep, that means he’s back to his old self, and that means he’ll be gone as soon as they finish fixing this mess.

“You just gonna’ sit on my feet all night, Cas?”

Cas tilts his head, and then stands instead, thinking Dean was complaining. Dean sighs and shakes his head, sitting up to look at Cas properly when he asks, “don’t you need to sleep, too?”

“I’m not tired…” he trails off, yawning loudly. Dean huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, throwing the sheets back and gesturing at the empty side of the bed. Cas looks hesitant, timid, but slowly makes his way to the side of the bed and sinks down into it. Once he is fully laying, Dean pulls the blankets up and lays down properly, his back turned to Cas. It’s quiet for a long time, and Dean feels tense knowing Cas is laying there behind him, can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of his head, and he can’t sleep like that. But soon enough the feeling disappears and he hears Cas’ light snoring from behind him, and he can’t help but smile a little at the sound. Cas is still human enough to sleep, and somehow Dean finds more comfort in that than he thought he might.

Some strange feeling, one Dean can’t place the origin or nature of, some urge, makes him roll over to watch Cas sleep. It seems strange to be the one watching over Cas, when for so long Cas had watched over him. It also feels strange to not have to worry about if something is seriously wrong with him, unlike so many times before when Cas was still “Castiel, Angel of The Lord.” Angels don’t sleep. _Cas_ does, now, though.

Here, laying in Dean’s bed, one hand clutching at the collar of his dirty dress shirt, the other slipped under the pillow, he looks so young and innocent despite his unfathomable age. He doesn’t look like someone who has seen the world go from a simple hunk of rock to what it is now; someone who has watched over humanity for years and years or faced the apocalypse with two idiot brothers and an old drunk man. He doesn't look like someone who has tortured and been tortured, been broken over and over, who has fallen from grace, who has died many times over. He looks… almost _content_.

Dean feels some stupidly overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth his thumb over the soft creases at the edge of Cas’ eyes, the dark bags underneath, over his slightly stubbled cheek, his chapped and neglected - but somehow still appearing soft - bottom lip… _wait, what?_ Dean physically jerks at the thought, surprised by himself. He can't even come up with an excuse, can't tell himself he hadn’t thought that, because he really does want to. He wants to touch, feel, map out the lines and curves of Cas’ peaceful, sleepy face. But that feels wrong, in some way, because Cas is asleep and he might wake up and punch Dean square in the face for doing such a thing. But he can't stop himself, and before he knows it his hand is hovering over Cas’ eye, and he presses his thumb ever so lightly on the crows feet forming at the corner.

Cas doesn't even twitch when Dean drags his thumb along the lines, down under his eye to smooth over the slightly puffy bottom lid. He hesitates a moment, before running his thumb across Cas’ cheek with a feather light touch, the stubble on his face tickling Dean’s skin, and slowly he spread his hand out, cupping the side of Cas’ face in his hand. Suddenly, his hand pressed softly to the side of Cas’ face, he can't find any reason to think this is wrong. So many times he has worried about touching Cas like this, about how it would be awkward and Cas would be angry. But he is sleeping, only twitching a corner of his mouth upwards in a half smile when Dean’s thumb tickles the stubble on his cheek. Dean smiles back at his sleeping friend, even though Cas can't see him.

Without thought, he lets his thumb pass lightly over Cas’ bottom lip, making the man twitch. His mouth falls open slightly, and Dean pulls his hand way as if burned, suddenly feeling like he has done something stupid and wrong. But as he watches Cas, snoring quietly and nuzzling his face into the pillow like a kitten, he comes to the conclusion that he might actually love Castiel. Not the way he loves Sam, nor the way he loves his mother or father; not the way he loves Bobby, nor the way he loves Kevin or Charlie. He loves Castiel the way he had loved Lisa and Cassie. But different. More intense, more terrifying, and just too good to be true. It was unnerving to think of it, even if it were a fleeting thought, because he has never thought he could love someone like that again, much less his best friend. But he does.

“ _Damn_ … I love you.” He cringes, bites his lip, bites his cheek, alternates between the two because he can’t decide how to deal with this confession. It doesn’t matter if Cas can’t hear him, he is terrified. He can’t love Cas. He can’t. But he does. And now he knows it and he doesn’t know what to do. He repeats the words in a barely audible whisper, frantic, hoping maybe if he says it enough it will lose it’s meaning. But it doesn’t, and suddenly Cas’ eyes are open and staring at him with so much adoration, and there is a thin layer of worry that makes his eyes shine in a way that makes Dean want to cry or scream or hit something, because that’s not fair, Cas shouldn’t worry about Dean, and he hates it but that’s part of why he loves him. Because he cares even when he shouldn’t, when he doesn’t need to, when no one else does.

“Dean?” Cas asks, his voice low and quiet, and Dean abruptly stops breathing. He can’t. Because Cas is searching his face with bright eyes and he looks so understanding but he somehow still looks worried. Who wouldn’t worry? He must have sounded insane, whispering three words to himself like a prayer.

“Cas… I’m sorry.” Dean doesn't know why he says it, but he feels like he needs to. The other man just squints slightly, and his big blue eyes look so sad suddenly.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because…” Dean doesn’t want to say it. At least, he tells himself he doesn’t, but before he can’t stop himself - because he is done keeping everything in when all it gets him is more pain - the words are slipping from his mouth once more, loud enough to be heard, for Cas to hear. “I _love_ you, Cas.”

Cas is silent for a moment, his eyes softening, the corners of his mouth turning up in the smallest of smiles that somehow is still so heartwarming. His hand is suddenly on Dean’s cheek, causing Dean to blink dumbly at Cas in his confusion, and then all too quickly, any space between their mouths is gone. But the kiss itself is so surprisingly slow, so sweet; almost tentative. And Dean is surprised to find that it feels so right. He may have imagined this once or twice, but it was never like this. The first time he imagined it it scared him, and he thought it would have happened so quickly and it would be fierce, almost painful in it’s neediness and haste. But this is almost unbearably sweet; so pure, so slow, so affectionate and just… right.

And just like that it ends. Cas pulls away and looked Dean in the eyes. The thing Dean isn't expecting is for Cas to smile and say, “I love you, too, Dean.”

Hearing it somehow makes Dean feel like there is a swarm of bees in his stomach, buzzing about happily. He is surprised to find that he likes the feeling. But he likes the feeling of kissing Cas more than that, so he pushes in to kiss him again. He thought maybe the feeling would change, that it would feel awkward or one of them would change their mind, but that was not the case. Instead, a warm hand slides from his cheek to his shoulder, around to his back to card through his hair as Cas pulls them closer together, chest to chest, legs tangling together. They break apart again, and he presses his face against Dean’s neck, curling into him and yawning quietly. Dean doesn't mind. Actually, he enjoys it more than he would like to admit. He simply pulls Cas closer, draping an arm over his waist and resting his chin atop Cas’ messy head of hair, smiling faintly as he drifts off to sleep with a hand still curled loosely in his short hair.

Just before he truly falls asleep, he hears Cas murmur into his neck, “Kevin’s sleeping in the other room, just so you know.” And in response to that, all Dean can do is grin and nuzzle further into Cas’ hair, quickly falling asleep. Now all he needs is to figure out how to get Sam back. But right now, he can really sleep, content and warm wrapped up in Cas’ arms. He has a good feeling about this. He has _hope_. And suddenly, he hopes, more than anything in that moment, that this _isn’t_ a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't remember what made me write this, but I finished it in just under two hours (I think? It was divided through the day) so if it sucked I apologize, but thanks for reading anyway.
> 
> Any and all comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are welcome. By that I mean I seriously need these things, especially the criticism, because I would like to become a better writer than I currently am.


End file.
